


Fight Me

by fairytaleslayer



Series: Fight Me [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, F/F, I promise, No Angst, all fluff, and there's a tiny bit of, but it's not even real angst okay, in the last chapter, it just takes place in a hospital, it's a happy fic, it's definitely expanded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytaleslayer/pseuds/fairytaleslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurse Clarke Griffin has to regularly check on patient Lexa Woods in the middle of the night, who inexplicably greets her with the words 'Fight me' whenever Clarke enters the room.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Lexa somehow manages to accidentally score a date with Clarke with her not so great at the moment lungs and dorkiness, without ever being fully awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an adorable Tumblr post from @ohsebs about their own experience.

_June 25, 2014_

You want to go home. Pulling a double at Ark Hospital with only an hour of sleep in the last forty-eight might literally be killing you. You weren't even supposed to be working, but Wells had had a family emergency, and you couldn't say no to your best friend. So immediately after finishing your own shift, you began his. You're pretty sure that despite only being a nurse, you had made at least one intern shit his pants in fear after he tried to hit on you when you had neither showered nor slept in the last thirty hours.

Luckily, it was now after midnight, and you just had one patient whose vitals you had to check every other hour until you handed her off at six for the morning shift. All the other patients on the floor were stable and allowed to sleep through the night. This – Lexa Woods – had compromised lungs from a bad bout of pneumonia, you can see from her chart. It had landed her in the hospital a week ago, and she needed regular monitoring to ensure that she was getting full oxygenation. Barring complications, she'd be released in the next couple days.

You manage to drift off to sleep for ten minutes or so before an alarm wakes you at one, telling you it's time to check Miss Woods. You groan, slowly stretching and popping your back. _Room 530_ , her chart says. You make your way over there, yawning.

The light stays off. You don't need to disturb her anymore than you have to. At least one of you should be allowed to sleep. You get past the entry, and you're greeted with the sight of what has to be at least six pillows piled at the head of the bed, along with three blankets covering a lump of a body. All you can see of your patient is a head of wild curls spread all over the place and peeking out from under four of those pillows.

You shake your head in exasperation. Now you're going to have to wake this Lexa up so that you can actually check her breathing. Since you can't even see her. “Miss Woods,” you call quietly, tapping on one of the pillows. “Miss Woods, my name is Nurse Griffin and I'm here to check your vitals.”

A groan emanates from somewhere underneath all those pillows, then a small, muffled “Fight me,” follows.

You roll your eyes in amusement, holding back a snort of laughter, before simply moving the pillows out of the way. “Maybe later,” you promise, proceeding along with your check up. “I just need to make sure you're breathing okay and that you're pulse is fine, then you can go back to sleep and do all the fighting you want.” You freeze as Lexa is revealed.

You were not prepared for the sight of Miss Lexa Woods. She is _beautiful_. Currently frowning in annoyance and refusing to even open her eyes, but extraordinarily good looking. You have to shake yourself to stop staring and actually get on with your work. You finish as quickly as possible, embarrassed to have been staring, even if you weren't caught as Lexa still refuses to wake up. “You can sleep now, Lexa,” you whisper when you're done. The girl, who is your age (you checked), only breathes out a deep, labored rush of air before seeming to fall back to sleep.

The troubled breathing is a little worrisome, but it's not bad enough to note down. If it gets any worse, you'll have to, but you want to give the girl a chance to go home sometime in the next hundred years. You settle down at a desk not far from Lexa's door so that you'll be able to hear her if she becomes distressed, set your alarm for two hours from now, and attempt to take a nap.

Exhausted or no, you can't sleep. Lexa's face keeps floating to the front of your mind. _Get a grip_ , you tell yourself. _She's your patient. That's violating about a dozen HIPPA and hospital regulations._ For God's sake, you never even saw her eyes. _Maybe they're really pretty ones – Oh my_ God _, Clarke_ , you yell in your head.

Also, Lexa's tiny little 'Fight me' had been endearing. Totally ineffectual to its purpose, but adorable and dorky and not at all as badass as she probably meant it to sound like. Nobody was threatening from a hospital bed. You've seen plenty of people come and go, trying to act tough and scary, but the hospital gown always ruins the image.

Finally, you manage to grab about an hour. You wake up again twenty minutes before you have to go back to Lexa's room, so you get yourself some coffee so you can last the final three hours of this never ending shift.

The time comes. Lexa is once again buried beneath her mountain of pillows. You don't even bother trying to wake her politely – you just start moving the pillows off of her. Lexa groans and shakes her head, trying to burrow into her mattress and escape your hands. “Lexa,” you coax. “Lexa I need you to face me so that I can check you. Just for a few seconds, then you can have your pillows back.” It doesn't appear that Lexa believes you. She merely scrunches up her nose (adorably, you think) and whispers another “Fight me,” before bursting into coughs that seize her entire body.

You immediately go back into nurse mode. You sit Lexa up to clear her airway, move the blankets so she doesn't feel restricted or weighted down, and grab the glass of water that's been sitting by her bed all night. Her breaths were too shallow and fast, and Lexa was quickly heading towards hyperventilation.

“Lexa, breathe,” you coach, speaking over her coughs. “Breathe. I know it feels like you can't, but I promise you can.” You grab the inhaler that holds a relaxant prescription for just this situation. Lexa continues to choke on her own air. “Take a breath and then we'll do your inhaler, okay?” You remain calm for her.

Lexa sucks in one good breath, and you hold the inhaler to her mouth, administering the drug. Slowly, her coughs subside, and you breathe a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do well for your reputation if your one patient of the night died of asphyxiation. “There you go Lexa,” you praise, rubbing her back soothingly as she regains control of her breathing. “Breathe slowly, but not too deep. Don't stress your lungs.”

“Sorry,” Lexa croaked out.

You grin. “No need to be sorry. I'm not gonna fight you because I know you'd win,” you tease. It draws a small smile from her, which is a win in your book. Lexa looks down and tries to wipe her hands discreetly on her blankets. You glance at them and see they're wet from trying to stifle her coughs. “Don't worry about it,” you reassure her, grabbing a paper towel for her to dry her hands with. Lexa blushes, but obeys, sheepishly handing over the towel when she's finished.

You come back over and help her lay down once more, although you place two of her pillows under her head to keep her airway from becoming blocked again. You smooth some sweat soaked strands of hair from Lexa's forehead. Her eyelids are fluttering, and you can tell she's exhausted from coughing. “Go back to sleep,” you murmur gently. You can see Lexa try to fight it, staring into your eyes for another few seconds before she loses the battle. You wait for a few minutes to make sure she won't become distressed again before you leave her in peace.

At five in the morning, you manage to perform your last check on Lexa without waking her up. She still looks uncomfortable in her sleep, but her breathing seems easier. The coughing episode is going to set her release back. It sucks for Lexa, but you're going to have to put it in her chart. And you actually have the next few days off, and odds are she'll be released before you get back.

You're intrigued by the girl. She's cute, there's no denying it, and you've only seen her in bed in a hospital gown in the middle of the night. You don't even want to think of how beautiful she'd be in her normal wardrobe. Which you absolutely do _not_ imagine as skinny jeans, combat boots, and a black leather jacket.

Six AM finally rolls around, and you gratefully hand over your duties to Lincoln. Without really thinking about it, you make your way down to the hospital cafeteria. You get a hot chocolate – caffeine would not be good for her right now. You steal a pen from the register and jot down a quick note before running it back up to the third floor and leaving it for Lexa to find when Lincoln wakes her in a few minutes.

Lexa has managed to bury herself again despite your efforts, and you can only smile fondly before setting the cup down with your message facing her. You take one last look before forcing yourself to leave, hoping this isn't the last time you see Lexa Woods.

The cup waits for Lexa, reading:

_Fight me?_

_xxx-xxx-xxxx_

_Clarke Griffin_

 

* * *

 

Your phone rings a week later.

 

You were right about her outfit.


	2. Maybe Don't Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is maybe, slightly, not really, drunk and still trying to figure out how she's dating the hot nurse Clarke Griffin. And she's a dramatic dork with absolutely no filter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is both a continuation and alternate take from Lexa's POV. I wasn't planning on continuing this, but I - as always - saw a post on Tumblr. 
> 
> This time, it's from user @okcupidescapades wherein they 'are a little bit drunk and laying in bed with a guy, kissed his neck and mumbled “i could beat the shit out of you” in his ear. he said “i know".'
> 
> And I thought it went perfectly with Lexa's 'Fight me.'

_August 2, 2014_

You were drunk. You knew you were – _But just a tiny bit_ , you reasoned with yourself. Not even drunk. Just tipsy. Oh, god. This was your fifth date with Clarke Griffin the extremely hot blonde nurse and you’re totally drunk. Tipsy. Whatever.

“You doing okay over there, Lexa?” Clarke broke into your wandering thoughts. You immediately turned your attention back to her and nodded. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically, causing Clarke to grin in amusement, but you got the point across. You’re fine. You’re not drunk. Not even a little bit.

You really kind of are.

You couldn’t believe your luck in scoring even one date with Clarke Griffin. Honestly, you didn’t really remember how it had happened.

* * *

You hated hospitals, but you’d been unbelievably ill with a cold that turned into a sinus infection that turned into pneumonia that _wouldn’t leave_. Finally, when you hadn’t eaten in three days or slept in two, your best friend Anya had practically dumped you at the hospital’s doorstep. You’d been too out of it to even realize where you were.

They had kept you in that tiny, cold little room for almost two weeks. Anya had come to visit when she could, but other than that you were mostly alone. The nurses were all tired and cranky, the doctors were too busy and stuck up to really pay any attention to anyone besides themselves, and the interns were morons.

Basically, those two weeks had been miserable.

You’d convinced Anya to steal you some extra pillows and another blanket from some storage closet, which at least made the thin mattress a bit more comfortable, but then a nurse had had the audacity to begin removing them from where they were blocking out the beeping noise over your head at one o’clock. One o’clock in the fucking morning.

She was calling your name quietly and she really did have a nice voice – kind of husky and sexy, your addled mind thought – but you were planning on yelling at her for waking you up anyways. Except you were a little too out of it and all you could manage was a tiny “Fight me.”

That was embarrassing. Why the hell had you said that? But the nurse – Nurse Griffin, she introduced herself – just chuckled and replied “Maybe later.” She kept speaking some kind of medical jargon but you’d zoned out. It was hard to concentrate with all the cotton shit in your head and lungs and the incessant _beeping_ surrounding you.

You never did open your eyes to look at the nurse. You wanted to, but your head hurt too much. Nurse Griffin sounded nice though, even if she did wake you up in the middle of the night and rearrange your pillows. Your lungs were starting to tense up again. That was the only word you had to describe how hard it was to breathe. So when the nurse whispered that you could go back to sleep you obeyed without ever opening your eyes to see if Nurse Griffin was as good looking as her voice was.

You didn’t know how long you slept, but you’d _just_ managed to satisfactorily cover your head again when the other woman returned and began to remove them once more. You didn’t care how sexy a voice Sexy Voice Nurse Griffin had, if she kept stealing your pillows, you two were gonna have problems.

When the last pillow was taken from you, you prepared yourself to berate the nurse. Instead, all that came out was another tiny little “Fight me,” before your lungs tightened like they hadn’t in two days and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. You burst into hacking coughs, trying to clear your chest of something that wasn’t there. Every tiny intake of oxygen just made you cough more, and you were honestly close to panicking when Nurse Griffin had taken a seat beside you, pulling you into a sitting position and freeing you from your suddenly too heavy blankets. She rubbed your back, speaking soothingly to you. You couldn’t understand her at first, too preoccupied with your attempts to cough up both of your lungs, but eventually her instruction to take a breath got through to you.

You obeyed, barely managing it, and she gave you your inhaler. The medicine helped almost immediately, and you slowly began to believe that you might not die that night. “Breathe slowly, not too deep,” the nurse had soothed. “Don’t stress your lungs.”

She’d practically saved your life just now, so you tried to do as you were told. Now you were just embarrassed. Your body was betraying you, taking away your control, and Nurse Griffin had witnessed that. “Sorry,” you got out, chancing a glance at the nurse.

You were stunned. Nurse Griffin was indeed as hot as her voice implied, and you were always kind of useless around good looking women. And she was _so_ beautiful. How was it legal that someone be that beautiful while working at three in the morning? And be able to save people to boot? This was ridiculous.

But the blonde woman just cracked a grin, teasing you with “No need to be sorry. I'm not gonna fight you because I know you'd win.”

Oh, right. The fighting thing. You still had no idea why you’d said that once, let alone twice, but apparently Nurse Griffin thought it was cute. Or at least mildly amusing. Or she was just trying to make you feel better because you were sick and in a hospital and probably dying. Okay, you probably weren’t dying. But still.

You looked down at your hands, embarrassed, and saw that they were covered in saliva from your coughs. You grimaced and tried to wipe them off without the other woman seeing, but she caught on almost immediately. You looked up to see her glancing at them, and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks at what a mess you were.

“Don’t worry about it,” she comforted you as she stood to grab something for you to wipe your hands on. You were too humiliated to actually say anything. She was being so kind. She helped you lay back down, stealing two of your precious pillows to place under your head instead of over it. You could feel exhaustion creeping back up on you, but you wanted to keep looking at this beautiful woman’s face for as long as you could. “Go back to sleep,” she told you gently, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

You didn’t want to obey, staring into her eyes and trying to memorize them. They were the most beautiful blue you’d ever seen. Green had always been your favorite color but you’re pretty sure blue just replaced it. But you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, and her smile was the last thing you saw before you fell asleep once more.

* * *

You hadn’t seen Nurse Griffin again. Some other nurse that called himself Lincoln had woken you up at seven in the morning, and you were not happy with his presence and the absence of the other girl’s. You didn’t even know her name. Nurse Lincoln had just grinned at your grumpiness and pointed at a take away coffee cup bearing Ark Hospital’s logo. “Maybe that will cheer you up,” he teased, taking his leave.

You glared at the cup for a few minutes before snatching it and taking a quick sip. Okay, for a hospital they made surprisingly good hot cocoa. But you were still put out at having not woken for Nurse Griffin’s last check up at five, even though you weren’t sorry for the extra sleep. You didn’t see how cocoa was supposed to make everything better.

It wasn’t until you put down the cup that you noticed the writing along the bottom.

_Fight me?_

_xxx-xxx-xxxx_

_Clarke Griffin_

_Huh_. Apparently your addled mind had been endearing enough for – Clarke – to want to see you again. _Outside_ of the hospital. Wait. Was this Clarke’s – you loved knowing her name – way of asking you out on a date? Had you scored a date with a hot nurse without saying more than five words to the woman? That was either extremely talented or you should get sick more often.

Either way, you now had incentive to get out of this fucking white room as quickly as possible so you could see Nurse Clarke Griffin again and possibly go out with her.

* * *

Clarke _had_ been asking you out, and now, five dates later, you were possibly, maybe, a tiny bit drunk and sitting on Clarke’s bed as she changed into pajamas. You’d stayed over after your last date as well, although you hadn’t _slept_ slept with Clarke yet. You wanted to, and you were pretty sure Clarke wanted you as well, but you were willing to wait for her to give the okay.

But right now you were just a little bit tipsy and Clarke was changing in front of you and if you were thinking a tad more clearly you might try to initiate something. But you weren’t, so all you could do was huff in annoyance when Clarke lay down next to you and tugged you down onto her.

You cuddled into the space between her neck and shoulder, letting one of your legs fall between hers. “I am trained in three different kinds of martial arts,” you muttered into her skin.

You could _hear_ Clarke’s grin when she replied with, “Okay?”

“I have control over my body. I could beat someone up right now if I needed to,” you continued vehemently.

“I know babe,” Clarke reassured you.

You had a point to what you were saying, and it had something to do with how you were totally okay with sex right now, but you’d sort of lost track of the conversation somewhere. You thought for a moment.

Fuck it.

You kissed Clarke’s neck softly. “I could beat the shit out of you,” you mumbled.

What. The. Fuck. That was _not_ what you meant to say. Damn it, you were trying to start something, not threaten your girlfriend. Wait. Was Clarke your girlfriend? Never mind: that was a question for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk. Oh, right. You were drunk. Totally drunk, way more than tipsy, that was why you were saying stupid shit about beating people up, and not seducing your maybe girlfriend, Hot Nurse Clarke Griffin.

Said nurse was currently shaking beneath you, and when you looked up at her face, confused, you could see that she was desperately holding in silent laughter. “I know,” she managed to get out, still laughing.

You pouted. Clarke shouldn’t be laughing at you, you were being serious. Wait, no you weren’t. You didn’t want to take Clarke out. Well, you _did_ , but not in the violent way. In the date and sex way. Especially the sex way at the moment, and the sooner the better.

You were too drunk for thinking right now – it was making your head hurt. You wanted Clarke, but your brain to mouth communication was not working at all. You sighed exasperatedly and buried your face in her neck again, deciding to just lay there until things made more sense.

Clarke eventually got herself back under control. “Lexa? Lex, you okay?” she prodded.

You groaned. “It’s not working,” you complained, your voice muffled by her shirt.

“What isn’t?”

“Anything. Everything. You’re just really sexy and I want you and I keep saying stupid things like ‘Fight me’ and ‘I can beat people up’. Which is true, but not what I meant,” you muttered.

You felt Clarke’s hand come up to run through your curls and you finally relaxed into her. “You’re a dork, Lexa,” she whispered. You were ready to be offended, but she added, “And adorable. And sexy, and I want you too but let’s figure that out in the morning? Because we’re both a bit drunk and I want the first time I sleep with my girlfriend to be right, okay?”

You nodded, relieved that Clarke at least understood you, even if you didn’t. You could love this girl, you think, and it wouldn’t take very long or much convincing. You’re already halfway there. You happily nuzzled into Clarke, breathing in her scent and you both began to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Wait.

You’re sober in an instant.

Did Clarke just call you her girlfriend?


	3. Maybe Just Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Clarke and Lexa's first Christmas together, and they're celebrating with the gang.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke and Lexa are excellent gift givers but Octavia could use some work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no self control, apparently. I thought I was done with this story. But I guess not. This one is perhaps a bit less dorky simply because Clarke and Lexa maintain full use of their faculties throughout the chapter. Shocking, I know.

_December 24, 2014_

It’s Christmas. You and Clarke have been dating for six months. Neither of you really celebrate Thanksgiving so this is your first big holiday together and Clarke is thrilled. You’re excited too, but you like to think that you’re a lot more chill about it. Clarke, on the other hand, has practically been bouncing off the walls for the past week.

Apparently, Christmas is a big thing for her and her friends. Between Bellamy pretty much raising Octavia, Raven’s family issues, Wells’ being estranged from his father, and Clarke’s own problems with her mother, they’ve made the holiday their own for the past few years. You’re honored to be included this year.

Clarke has also been hovering over you the last few weeks too because you’ve had a cold you can’t quite shake, and she’s been worried it will develop into pneumonia again. Your threats of bodily harm have no effect on her. Neither do your threats of withholding sex, which you think are far more serious. She just gives you her ‘I’m a nurse, you have to listen to me’ glare and ignores everything you say.

You can’t complain too much since you’re still half convinced she saved your life six months ago – plus it’s been a while since you’ve had someone fuss over you. Anya – you love her – but she’s much more gruff and hands free than Clarke when it comes to caregiving.

You’re determined to kick this cold before tomorrow morning though. You have something big planned, and you don’t need to sneeze right in the middle of giving your gift to Clarke. Although she’d probably find it endearing. There was that whole ‘Fight me’ fiasco from your hospital stay that she still loves to embarrass you with. But sneezing is strictly forbidden tomorrow. And sniffling. And coughing. In fact, you’re putting a ban on all symptoms of illness for twenty-four hours beginning now.

You promptly sneeze.

Okay, you might need to work on that directive. Pure willpower may not be enough.

“You okay, babe?” Clarke calls down the hall from her room.

“I’m fine, Clarke,” you sigh exasperatedly. Honestly. You sneezed. It’s not the plague.

“If you aren’t feeling up to it, we can always postpone meeting up with everyone. The group won’t mind at all,” the blonde says, coming out of her room to give you a hug from behind.

You press your hands into her arms, holding her to you. “I’m not ruining your guys’ tradition just because I have the sniffles,” you inform your girlfriend.

“Okay first of all, sniffles?” Clarke grins. “Are you six? Second of all, you are part of this family now, so if you can’t attend, we wait for you to get better. That is what this family does.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “That is the grossest, sappiest sentence I have ever heard,” you tease just as Clarke groans.

“I know, I know,” she admits, digging her face into your back. “That was gross.”

“That’s alright,” you reassure her. “The first time you talked to me – when I didn’t even open my eyes, I called you Sexy Voice Nurse Griffin in my head. Even though I wanted to beat you up for waking me every other hour.”

Clarke’s laugh is still your favorite sound in the world.

* * *

Luck is on your side the next morning. You wake up entirely free of your cold. You decided to celebrate by crawling on top of Clarke and waking her with soft kisses to her neck.

“This is strangely familiar,” she teases you quietly, still not quite awake.

“I promise no risk of martial arts today,” you assure her as you kiss your way down to her chest. Your hand steals its way under the covers to where Clarke is bare of any clothing.

Clarke’s groans fill the air and you may have been wrong last night. Maybe her laugh is only your second favorite sound in the world.

* * *

You are _so_ nervous. This is a big step for you. Your gift to Clarke is invisible underneath the tree in Clarke’s living room where the entire group is now gathered. You and Clarke had had to rush to get ready for everyone’s arrival after your wakeup call ran a little long. But now you’re wondering whether you should have put your back up gift under the tree instead because you’re starting to regret your decision.

It’s such a small little package, with such big implications. Ideas of permanence, stability, longevity, all contained in a tiny box hiding behind some huge monstrosity addressed to both you and Clarke from Octavia. You suddenly wish that you’d at least discussed this with Clarke _before_ you decided to go all out. But honestly, you’ve been going back and forth between your two apartments for the last four months, never spending a night apart. You’d like to be able to not have to live out of a duffle bag four days a week, and you’re hoping Clarke feels the same.

Clarke is cuddled into you, practically on your lap as you watch the others open their gifts one at a time. Octavia is currently drooling over the katana you and Clarke had split costs on, Bellamy is already nose deep in one of the mythology books you got him, Raven is watching Wells tear into his gifts as she absentmindedly runs her hand over the wrench set you had bought for her like it was a puppy.

“I think they all like their gifts,” you whisper in Clarke’s ear just as Wells lets out a whoop of excitement at the camera you and Clarke had given him.

Clarke nodded happily, watching her friends fondly. “Lexa next!” she announces suddenly.

You can’t help blushing. You’ve never liked being the center of attention. But you dutifully open the brightly wrapped packages as they’re handed to you. You laugh at the Legally Blonde DVD Raven got you, because, “You’re a lawyer. What the hell do I get a lawyer?” she rants. You don’t admit to her that it’s one of your favorite movies. She’d never let you live it down. Wells and Bellamy both give you gift cards to the used bookstore you love, and Octavia tells you that her gift is for both you and Clarke, so you wait for that one.

Finally, Clarke heaves herself to her feet to fetch a large package from her room. Wells helps her haul it in front of you. “Hopefully size doesn’t matter to you because I’m afraid I’ll disappoint,” you joke as you eye the gift.

“Just open your present, Lex,” Clarke rolls her eyes, but watches you eagerly as you gingerly tear into the paper.

You gasp when a telescope is revealed. You’d told Clarke about your love of the stars once offhandedly while you were still in the ‘get to know you’ phase. It had been the passion you shared with your mother before your parents’ death, and your one regret in moving to the city was your inability to find constellations anymore.

“You like it?” your girlfriend asks nervously.

You don’t even bother answering with words. You turn and kiss her hard, clutching the hair at the back of her head to keep her with you. Clarke sinks into it, and the two of you kiss until Octavia makes a noise of disgust and chucks a wad of gift wrap at your head. You sheepishly break apart.

“I take that as a yes,” Clarke pants a bit.

You can’t believe Clarke remembered that tiny detail about you, let alone caught your love for it in your tone during your brief description. “If you thought you were getting lucky again tonight then you would be correct,” you murmur in her ear.

Clarke shoves you away, blushing. “Nerd,” she mutters as you grin. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”

“I’m expecting it.”

“Would you two stop being disgustingly in love for three seconds so Sexy Voice Clarke can open her presents and we can leave you to your holiday sex?” Raven interrupts.

“How the hell do you know about that nickname?” Clarke demands. “Lexa only told me about it last night.”

Raven shrugs. “I got Lexa drunk when you were in DC for that Infection Control continuing education thing,” she excuses. “She has absolutely no filter when she’s had alcohol, did you know that?”

“I was aware,” Clarke glares at you as your face darkens in embarrassment. You don’t remember telling Raven that small fact but you wouldn’t put it past your drunken self. After all, you casually mentioned you could beat the shit out of Clarke on your fifth date. Anything’s possible.

After she’s done huffing at you, Clarke finally opens her presents. She lets out a yelp of glee when she sees that Bellamy, Wells, and Raven all chipped in to buy her the complete set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which she has loved since high school and recently gotten you hooked on. Octavia insists her present be opened last, so you head to the tree to root out your small box that had become buried beneath piles of bows and wrapping paper.

“Now I feel bad, because you got me a _telescope_ , and I didn’t spend anything on this,” you explain nervously. “But if you hate it, I actually have a backup in the other room just in case.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and takes the box from you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Lexa,” the blonde tells you. “Just you is enough.”

You grin. “Well I’ll just take this back then,” you tease, reaching for the box.

Clarke jerks it out of reach. “No! Mine,” she declares.

“For God’s sake, just open it,” Octavia complains.

Clarke pulls on the ribbon and lifts the lid. She gasps at the object inside. “Lexa,” she breathes, staring at you with the softest look in her eyes that you’ve ever seen.

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but I thought you’d be as tired as I am of living out of bags and drawers. And maybe it’s too soon. If it’s too soon just tell me and I can take that back and go get you the other gift,” your babble ends when Clarke surges forward to kiss you.

Neither of you notice the flash of Wells’ new camera, too absorbed in one another.

When you finally pull away, all the confirmation you need is in Clarke’s gaze, but you ask anyway. You pull out the key. “Hot Nurse Clarke Griffin, will you move in with me?” you ask, unable to contain your grin.

“Of course, you dork,” Clarke whispers, throwing her arms around your shoulders and leaning in for another kiss.

This time, the flash of the camera is what breaks you apart.

* * *

You stumble out of bed a week after the New Year, yawning heavily. Clarke is officially moved into your apartment and still sleeping in your bedroom. You go into the kitchen and dig a couple of instant waffles out of your freezer. Not the breakfast of champions, but it’s the best you can pull off at eight o’clock on a Saturday.

You eye the demon appliance sent from hell that Octavia gifted the pair of you for Christmas. You’re not sure you want to even touch it, but the growling in your stomach convinces you. You thrust the waffles into the new microwave and turn it on.

You busy yourself while you’re waiting by starting the coffee pot and getting mugs down for you and Clarke. You’re thinking about the case you have the deposition for next week, and you forget to shut the microwave down before the timer hits zero.

Some childish tune that you dimly remember from that Oregon Trail computer game you used to play in primary school goes off, filling the apartment with ghastly music. You leap across the kitchen, slamming the button down to open the door, but not before you fumble it twice and the music plays for a good ten seconds.

You curse quietly to yourself, threatening to crush the demonic microwave with a hammer as soon as you find one. A groan behind you alerts you to Clarke’s presence.

“I’m going to murder you,” she moans into her arms where they’re resting on the bar.

“You’re the one that insisted we keep it,” you argue. “You didn’t want to hurt Octavia’s feelings, even though it was obviously a gag gift.”

“It was expensive!” Clarke protests. “I didn’t want her to have wasted her money.”

You shrug. “That would have been her own damn fault, and then we wouldn’t have jaunty tunes playing every time we warm something up. I think I prefer the beeping.”

“I can’t take it anymore. Either it goes, or I go,” Clarke complained, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

A diabolical idea comes to mind. You glance at the microwave, where your waffles still sit. _They’ve probably gone cold again_ , you reason. Your eyes go back to Clarke, who glares.

“Don’t even think about –” she begins, but it’s too late.

You close the microwave, set it for three seconds, and press start, never looking away from your girlfriend.

Three seconds later, the music begins again.

Clarke lets out an agonized groan and drops her head back onto her arms as you laugh.

* * *

It takes an hour of cuddles and kisses before Clarke forgives you.

The microwave is donated that afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can be found flailing over various fandoms under the same username on Tumblr.


	4. Maybe Forever?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke just wants to paint the galaxy on her girlfriend's back, and Lexa can't keep her mouth shut.
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa may end up giving herself her own best birthday present ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is definitely the last chapter. I think. You know what, never say never.

_September 28, 2015_

“Lexa, I need you to wake up. I can’t do this without you.”

The soft murmur wakes you early one morning. You groan and dig your face into your pillow, trying to ignore Clarke. This is the first day you’ve both had off in almost a month, and you had been hoping to sleep in just a little longer. But apparently, Clarke has other plans.

“Lex, babe, I heard that. I know you’re awake,” Clarke’s voice was louder now, and you can _hear_ the shit-eating grin she has on her face. “Come on, open your eyes. I need your help.”

“No,” you grunt, snatching her pillow to put over your head. Thankfully, this muffles the sound of Clarke’s much too happy voice for whatever ungodly hour this is. “Fight me.”

“Lexaaaa,” Clarke whines, and you can just make out most of her words still through the pillow. “– want to paint – need you to – so I can paint your – ack.”

Shocked, you fling Clarke’s pillow off of your head. “Excuse me?” you demand. “You said the paint has to go where??”

Clarke gives you a strange look. “I said I wanted to paint your back, so you need to get out from under the covers,” she reiterates. “What did you think I said?”

Your face flushes – you can feel it getting hot – and a slow grin spreads across Clarke’s face.

“Get your mind out of the gutter Lexa Woods,” she reprimands you. “Now will you get on top of the bed so I can paint the galaxy on my girlfriend’s back?”

You roll your eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” you grumble, obeying nonetheless and grabbing a pair of boxers to pull on so you aren’t completely bare. You straighten out the comforter and put a paint splattered white sheet on top off it before laying down on your stomach. This is not the first time the nurse has used you as your canvas, and you know the drill.

Clarke squeals and runs to get her paints and brushes. You shake your head fondly – turns out Clarke is more of a dork than you are. Which you aren’t. A dork. You’re not. But Clarke insists that you are, no matter how much you deny it. And you tend to give in to whatever she wants, so you just go with it. But right now, she is definitely the dork. And you’re thinking that word too much.

“Hold still,” Clarke demands. You didn’t even notice her come in. That probably isn’t good, but whatever. You definitely notice when she climbs on top of you, though. You tense when the first brush of cold paint on a brush hits your back. No matter how many times Clarke paints you, you never remember that first chill and it surprises you every time.

“Baby,” Clarke teases quietly before focusing on her creation. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t even realized.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” For some reason, Clarke sounds exasperated, but amused.

Kind of. “Hey, I’m allowed to forget my own,” you reply defensively. “I remembered yours, didn’t I?” It’s true. The paints and brushes the blonde is using right now were your gift to her, along with a wake-up call reminiscent of your first Christmas together eight months ago.

“Okay,” Clarke allowed. “But I actually have a present for you later.”

“You mean this isn’t it?”

You feel Clarke’s weight shift on your waist before lips press briefly at the nape of your neck. You tilt your head to give your girlfriend more room, but Clarke is already back to painting. “You’re sweet, but no. This isn’t it.”

The swirl and glide of the different paint brushes is soothing, and you can feel yourself relaxing. When Clarke starts humming unknowingly, you almost drift back to sleep due to how calming the atmosphere is. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind if this was Clarke’s gift for you. Just the opportunity to spend time with her is enough.

God, you’re a sap. You’re grateful you didn’t say that out loud. Clarke would never let you hear the end of it. That’s what’s happened to you since you started dating Clarke Griffin. She’s turned you into a gooey, sappy mess.

About an hour later, Clarke sits up. “There,” she announces, rousing you from your slight doze. You crane your neck, trying to get a glimpse of Clarke’s work, but she turns you back around. “Uh-uh, you’re going to mess it up. It’s not dry yet. Stay there.” You feel her get up from your back, and you miss her weight, but she’s back a few seconds later with her phone.

Clarke snaps a quick picture and crouches down on the floor beside the bed where you still lay, careful not to disturb Clarke’s masterpiece. When, she shows you the picture, you’re breathless.

“Clarke,” you whisper. Your girlfriend really did turn your back into a galaxy. A blue-black background is disrupted with startling swirls of deep purple. Hundreds of white pinpricks dot your back. And in the dip of your torso, Clarke has turned your tribal tattoo into a brilliant nebula of streaking light blue and red, the dark pattern of your tattoo serving as its base. A bright, golden star peeks out from behind the blue, completing the look.

You can barely tear your eyes away from the picture to look at Clarke. “Marry me,” you breathe.

The blonde gasps, startled. “Lexa, what?”

You jolt back to your senses. Fuck. You hadn’t meant to say that, but you’re prepared for it anyway. “Top drawer of the dresser, slim black case type thing. Can you get it? I don’t want to mess this up.”

Wordless, Clarke obeys, apparently still shocked or trying to figure out if you’d just proposed. You curse yourself. You’d meant to do this better, but it just slipped out. Your mouth never cooperates with you around Clarke.

Clarke’s back in moments, curiously eyeing the case. You push yourself onto your elbows and take it from her as she kneels down beside you again. You open it, and a ring spins out of the nearly flat case. Clarke gasps. You grin. You’d gotten that case specifically so it wouldn’t be obvious what it contained. “Marry me,” you repeat.

“Oh my god, Lexa,” Clarke whispered in disbelief.

“Sorry, I meant to take you out and do this for real, but I couldn’t help it. You’re amazing, Clarke, and I want to marry you.” You’d gotten the ring on June 26th, the instant you’d found out the Supreme Court had legalized gay marriage and you could, in fact, wed Clarke. You had just been waiting for the right time, and this moment felt perfect, despite being unplanned.

Clarke doesn’t look like she can say anything. She just looks dumbfounded, but her eyes are shining, so you take that as a good sign. “Clarke Griffin, marry me, be my fighting partner –” she cracks a grin at that, “– be my wife, hold my fucking hand because we’re using the buddy system the rest of our lives and –” you grunt as Clarke cuts you off with an overwhelming kiss. You surge into it, gripping Clarke’s hair to bring her closer.

“This was not supposed to be the day where you give me something,” Clarke mutters, trying to hold back a wide smile as she continues to kiss you, but you can still feel it. “It’s supposed to be the other way around, you dork.”

“Well, you could say yes and make that my birthday present,” you hint.

Clarke kisses you again. “Of course it’s a yes. Lexa Woods, of course I’ll marry you.” She can’t seem to stop kissing you, which you have absolutely no problem with.

“Keep it up, and I’m going to have to take you to bed,” you warn her.

“You’re already in bed, you moron,” Clarke reminds you.

Oh, right. “Very good point.” You drag Clarke onto bed on top of you, rolling to your back as you do. You make a mental note to have Clarke send you that picture, since you definitely want to print it out and you just ruined the painting itself. You feel vaguely bad about that, but you just got engaged, so you don’t much care.

Clarke doesn’t seem to, either, merely straddling your hips and going down on her hands to kiss you some more. “Does this mean I have to fight you the rest of our lives?” she teases in a murmur as you pause for a breath.

“Maybe just love me?” you suggest.

“Deal. Dork.”

* * *

You didn’t get around to opening your birthday present until the day after your birthday.

You kind of figure you already got the best one, anyways.

Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can be found on Tumblr under the username fairytaleslayer if you want to come hang out sometimes.


	5. That Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Clarke and Lexa's anniversary and things get cute
> 
> Or
> 
> There's monsters running around and seeing gross things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay see? I write one more chapter, then someone ALWAYS says something that gets me thinking, and I end up writing two chapters in two days before taking another two month break. Seriously, this is the second go round of that cycle.
> 
> Plus I just wanted to write from Clarke's perspective again since I did three in a row of Lexa when this was originally supposed to be Clarke's story.

_January 25, 2024_

You sigh in relief as you finally walk through your door after a long day at the hospital. You’re not the newbie anymore, so no more twenty-four hour shifts, but the twelve hour ones are still exhausting, especially in the last five years.

A wonderful smell greets you, although nobody is in sight. You grin. Lexa must have gotten off early today for your anniversary. You smile fondly as you think of your wedding – seven years ago. It’s cliché, but time really has flown since then. Your smile grows as you remember the speech you gave during the reception.

Lexa hadn’t wanted to say anything, but you couldn’t help taking the opportunity to tease her in front of everyone you cared about by telling the story of how Lexa had proposed on accident on her own birthday, completely ruining all the plans you had for your own proposal later that night. She had blushed deeply red before nudging you and giving you a kiss, whispering in your ear about how you’d pay for it later. You shiver in memory. That night had been particularly memorable.

Lexa was made a partner of her firm five years ago, and you were promoted to the hospital’s intensive care charge nurse a year later. You are both busy, but you have at least one day a week that is solely for the two of you, besides evenings and mornings, of course. Phones and computers off, door locked, and friends knowing they were not to interrupt unless they were dying.

It was hard, at first, when Lexa suddenly wasn’t available at any given hour, and often when she got home late at night, you were already gone for a night shift or were sleeping. It had all come to a head one night, six months after Lexa made partner – six months of loneliness for the both of you – when you had broken down. You couldn’t take it. You had been married for two and a half years, and it felt like you’d been alone for most of that span with Lexa working extra hours to prove herself dedicated, and then seemingly even more hours after she was finally promoted to prove she could handle the job.

Lexa, of course, had been amazing about it. You’re pretty sure your tears made _her_ cry, the sap. She’d sat down on the floor next to you, promising she would work something out. And she had. It had been difficult, but she’d developed a way that she could have at least one full day off a week, and for the next six months before your own promotion – when you could finally decide your availability yourself, as your own boss – you got your friends to switch shifts with you if your days off didn’t line up.

You’d talked for hours, that night. About everything. Your fears, her dreams, your guys’ future and what you both wanted for your family. Your relationship had come out the stronger for it, and you couldn’t be more grateful that neither of you gave up on the other.

“Lexa? Lex, I’m home,” you pull yourself out of your nostalgia and call down the hallway.

“Mommy!” two little voices yell and you can hear the pattering of small feet sprinting across the house. You drop your backpack and brace yourself for incoming.

Your four year old, Tris, is first to reach you. You bend down to snatch her up, avoiding a mouthful of the curly brown hair that is an exact replica of Lexa. Actually, pretty much all of her is an exact replica of your wife. So much so, you find it alarming sometimes.

“Hey pretty girl, I missed you!” you coo.

Before your wedding, the two of you had talked about children. Lexa had admitted that while she wanted children, she didn’t want to be pregnant, which you completely understood. You wanted her to feel connected to whatever kid you may have, though.

So came about Tris.

Biologically, she was Lexa’s. But you had carried her to term. And she was perfect from the second she was born. You had also managed to piece together a relationship with your mother before you married Lexa, and it had been Lexa who suggested partially naming your firstborn after her grandmother. Abby had been near tears when you told her.

Aiden, three years old, small for his age, and dark skinned with frizzy black hair that is absolutely adorable, reaches you just a few seconds later. You hold out your other arm to hug him tightly as well. “How’s my little man?”

“Good!” he yells enthusiastically in your ear, making you wince.

Strictly speaking, Aiden isn’t officially yours yet, but he’s lived with you since just after his first birthday, when you started the adoption process. Tris had been about to turn two, and you and Lexa had decided you were both ready for another child, but wanted to adopt this time.

Aiden was – to put it simply – a miracle. His parents had been killed in a car accident. A car accident he had been in as well. The paramedics hadn’t thought the tiny little baby would survive the trip to the hospital, and the doctors had nearly written him off as soon as he got there. But he’d proven them all wrong, stubbornly hanging on to life by a fingernail.

You’d first laid eyes on him when he came to your hospital’s pediatric intensive care unit after pulling through emergency surgery. You don’t usually work there, but that night you’d taken a shift as a favor, and it was the best decision you’d ever made. Aiden had been in intensive care for nearly a month before he was recovered enough to go into the system, and by that time you had introduced him to Lexa and you both were smitten. When no immediate family came forward for him, you requested adoption papers and filed for him.

Now, a grueling two years later, he’s a few weeks from being yours on paper, but he’s been part of your family for years.

“Hey, babe,” Lexa’s voice tears you from your memories.

You sigh. “Sorry kiddos, duty calls,” you moan, making them giggle. You set them back down on the floor and go to give your wife a hug and a kiss. “I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too. Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. The kids and I went shopping today for it special,” Lexa explains. “Speaking of which – Tris, take your brother and go wash, please. Dinner is almost ready,” Lexa asks your daughter.

Tris pouts. “I don’t wanna, I wanna talk to Mommy!”

“You can talk to Mommy all through dinner Tris,” Lexa promises. “But right now I need you and Aiden to have clean hands for eating. So please do as I say.”

You hide your smile. Lexa is always so diplomatic with your toddlers. She’s _such_ a lawyer, albeit with a four year old. Aiden is just watching the proceedings with interest.

“Fight me!” Tris says with a tiny little growl, glaring fiercely up into the green eyes that are the same as hers.

You try desperately to hold in laughter as Lexa stares down at her daughter, wide eyed. Tris had sounded so much like her mother, you weren’t sure if you should be amused, frightened, or both. You decide on amused. Lexa just looks a little bit horrified at her mini me.

“Trisana Abigail, do as I say,” she orders firmly. Tris pouts and looks like she wants to say more before she accepts defeat, grabbing Aiden’s hand and tugging him in the direction of their bathroom. He obeys silently, staring at Tris in awe.

You have tears running down your cheeks from silent laughter, and when Lexa turns in glare on you, you lose it. “Oh, my god!” you exclaim. “She sounded exactly like you. That was so cute.”

Lexa sighs. “And I wonder where on earth she learned that from,” she replies pointedly.

“Umm,” you sober. “I may have told her a bedtime story last week of how we first met,” you admit sheepishly. At Lexa’s renewed glare, you add quickly, “She asked, okay? She wanted to know.”

Your wife rolls her eyes but relents, going to give you a kiss. “Happy anniversary,” she murmurs.

Landing a kiss on her cheek, you wrap her up in a hug. “I love you. And dinner smells amazing, by the way.”

Lexa grins. “It better. I slaved away making your favorite – which was very difficult, by the way, with the little monsters always underfoot,” she complains, but you know she doesn’t mean it. She adores your children, and can’t wait for Aiden’s adoption to be finalized so he’s officially yours. “Also, the kids wanted ice cream for dessert when we went shopping, so I bought that as well. I, however, was planning on a very – different – dessert later tonight after the monsters are sleeping.” She looks at you meaningfully, as if you didn’t know what she was talking about.

You roll your eyes, giving her a playful shove as she smirks. “Dork,” you mutter. “Why did I marry you again?”

Lexa replies instantly. “Because almost nine years ago, I started this relationship with threats of violence, you saved my life, and seven years ago I promised to love you forever for it.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and shake your head. Lexa looks worried, for a moment, but you tug her in for another kiss. “How in the world can I love you more today than I did back then?” you ask quietly.

She kisses your forehead gently, replying, “I’m addicting. And I love you more now than I did an hour ago, and tomorrow I’ll love you more than I do today,” she one-ups you.

“Sap.” You’re trying not to cry, because God, you love this woman.

“You started it,” Lexa protests, going in for a kiss anyways.

“Ew!” the shout makes you jump apart. “Mama stop kissing Mommy! It’s gross!” Tris orders Lexa.

“Trisana!” Lexa reprimands. “I’m gonna get you for that!” She begins chasing her daughter, who squeals and runs for it.

You can’t hold in your laughter as you pick up Aiden and follow the pair at a more leisurely pace. You finally catch up to them in Tris’ bedroom, where Lexa has trapped Tris on her bed and is tickling her furiously. Your daughter is laughing uncontrollably, and it is one of your favorite sounds in the world. You set Aiden down on top of your wife and gang up on her, all six of your hands scratching at Lexa’s stomach until she breathlessly admits defeat. You all cheer and you pick up both Tris and Aiden – one on each hip – and carry them in victory to the kitchen to check on dinner as Lexa recuperates.

She joins you a few minutes later, promising retribution. You watch fondly as she dishes up lasagne for your children, knowing the two of you are going to spend at least an hour tonight in the bathroom getting all the sauce off of their hands and faces, and laundry this week is going to be a nightmare.

But you don’t care, because Lexa smiling at you over your children’s heads as she holds out a plate for you makes your heart hurt in the best kind of way. You can’t imagine life without the three other people that comprise your family. Your perfect – if perhaps slightly prone to violence and bouts of dorkiness – family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I can be found at 'fairytaleslayer' on tumblr at all hours of the night and day for flailing purposes.


	6. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early mornings have a way of making a person introspective.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke has a selfish thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was 50/50 on posting this, mostly because it's not cute and fluffy like the rest of the story. But it's been pre-approved by the lovely Sam, so here it is. It's very focused inward on Clarke's inner thoughts, and it's not exactly happy. I will promise that absolutely nothing bad happens and she and Lexa are still in a very good place. It's more of a - 'I hope, but not really?' - scenario.
> 
> Oh, and this is from a post on Tumblr. Sorry, but I don't remember who originally posted it so I can't credit them.

_November 19, 2028_

It is late fall. There was an early snow last night, not unusual for the middle of November, but not entirely normal, either. You’re not ready for winter though, so you curl closer into Lexa’s back under your thick comforter. You don’t want the morning to begin just yet.

Tris and Aiden, at nine and seven, are still plenty young enough to greet the first snow of the year with joyful shouts. And since it is Saturday, you know that Lexa and you will no doubt spend the entire day out in the snow making sure your two rascals don’t get frostbite.

You hadn’t been expecting snow, so the room is chilly without the heater warming the house. You make a note to turn that on later, or Lexa will complain about her cold feet. That makes you smile. Your strong, badass lawyer of a wife, who can stand up to any judge and any prosecutor without flinching, who has the best defense rate in the city, is always brought low by the onset of winter.

You always worry about her, too. She’s still prone to getting colds, and each time, you fear it will progress to pneumonia again. You know how sick she had been just before you first met, even if she may not quite grasp it. You’re scared that it could happen again. That she could end up in the hospital again. Only this time, she would be family, so you wouldn’t be allowed to treat her. You would be relegated to visiting, unable to help. Your children would be frightened. You would be terrified.

The thought comes out of nowhere as you huddle close to steal Lexa’s heat: _Outlive me, please._

It startles you. Sure, you and Lexa had made wills the instant Tris was born, and you’d updated them when Aiden had come into your lives, but you’ve never thought too hard about dying. You’re not even forty, and Lexa is only a few months older than you. You suppose you should have, what with working in a hospital and all. You see people die a lot. Far more often than you’ll ever tell Lexa. Mostly, it’s that person’s time to go – but sometimes it isn’t.

And now you think about the snow – how all the trees will lose the last of their leaves and go dormant for the winter, the grass in your back yard will go brown, and nights will get even longer. All evidence of time passing, and you can’t help but think about things ending.

Your grasp on your wife tenses, as if she could get any closer when you are already skin on skin from chest to calves. Lexa sighs softly in her sleep, searching for your hand. You give it to her, and she pulls it to her chest. Your throat tightens into a lump.

There’s no danger lurking at the door. Your children are safe in their beds. They’re probably in the same bed, for that matter. Lexa is safe in your arms. You have been married to the love of your life for eleven years, and by all accounts, you should get many more with her. There is no reason for this shadow to suddenly hang over you like a skulking Grim Reaper. But now you can’t shake it. It is five o’clock in the morning, and the notion fills your thoughts.

You press a kiss between Lexa’s shoulder blades. You both were strong – independent before you should have been. You have both been through enough shit in your lives for three other people apiece. You only have one parent between the two of you, and without Lexa, you may not even have Abby. Your relationship with your mother had been so damaged and torn after your father’s death, you didn’t think you could ever repair it. You hadn’t been sure that you wanted to. But Lexa had made you strong enough to reach out. And you were so, _so_ grateful to her for it every day, because now your children have a grandparent, and despite everything, you still love your mother so much.

Lexa makes you brave.

 _I could do it,_ you think as you press your face into Lexa’s neck. _I’ll be frightened at the end,_ the words float into your mind, _but I could be brave if you held me._

It’s so _selfish_ of you, to want to be the first one to go. To want Lexa to have to live without you just so that you could be comforted for a few moments. But you wish it anyway. Your children are your world, but Lexa is your soul. You can’t imagine this world without Lexa in it – your world without Lexa in it. It hurts your heart enough to want Lexa to be the one to endure. To have to be strong.

Lexa likes to say that you and she have lived dozens of lives, and that you fall in love in each one. She likes to say that she’ll find you in the next life, and that death isn’t the end. Strangely, Lexa is the optimist of the two of you.

You don’t know what you believe. You’re not sure if you buy into the whole ‘one person built just for you’ soulmate idea. But if you did – Lexa would be yours. You can’t bear the thought of losing her. Ever. Of her being taken from you. It would be like the world suddenly changing to tones of grey instead of color. It would be like all the oxygen was stripped from the atmosphere, leaving you unable to breathe through the vacuum in your lungs. It would be like losing the piece of yourself that knew how to live at all.

So you hide your face in Lexa’s skin, holding her close as you try to calm your racing heart. You close your eyes to try to block out the selfish thought now consuming you. Things will look better in the sunlight. You know they will. Tris and Aiden will wake you with laughter and smiling faces as they jump on the bed. Lexa will smile at you in that soft way of hers and give you a kiss before she goes to make ‘the monsters’ breakfast. You’ll play in the snow with your family.

But until then, you keep your eyes closed to hide that selfish thought behind them. “Please outlive me,” you whisper.

Thankfully, no one’s awake to hear. Just the reassuring thud of Lexa’s heart. You fall asleep eventually, comforted.

The sounds of life drown out the thoughts of death.

That’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....So?? Don't hate me, please?


End file.
